by C M Dancha
"M.C., M.C., I saw Rollie!" It was Uncle Leeks shouting to be heard over the commotion in the backstage area.
"Hello, Uncle Leeks. You saw who? Oh, come on, you know he's dead, uncle." M.C. forced his uncle back into the grip of the security officer. "Son, take my uncle home. He's had a tough day. Uncle, I'll see you later tonight, okay?"
The last thing M.C. wanted to do was get the family riled up again, thinking that Rollie was alive. Unfortunately, he would have to make everyone believe that Uncle Leeks was either going senile or drinking too much.
There was no sense thinking he could get away from his admirers. He might as well field their questions, sign a few autographs and hope that Sheffield could round up his brother. But before he turned his attention to the crowd, he made a mental note to have Crutchfield interrogated and disciplined about his stupid mistake.
Fifteen minutes later, Sheffield reported that Rollie had slipped through their dragnet.
"Sheffield, shut down the transport station, rail station and put up roadblocks on the major routes leaving town. Make sure everyone has an image of my brother. In fact, let everyone know that there's a 5,000 World Credit reward for his capture."
While M.C.'s latest instructions were communicated to the security forces in and around Macon, Rollie was outside the city limits winding along a narrow route cut through the pine forest. After fifteen minutes, the hover vehicle pulled off the road and entered a farm field. The winged doors opened and Rollie got out. At first, he thought he was alone and the programmed coordinates had to be wrong. The vehicle drove off as soon as the doors closed.
Rollie pondered over what he should do now. He was seemingly in the middle of nowhere and didn't have the slightest idea which direction to start walking.
"Hey, shitbird! Looking for a lift?"
Rollie spun around and saw a vague outline against the horizon. There was just enough moonlight seeping through the overcast sky to see someone walking in his direction. When the man was less than ten feet away, he said, "Rollie, let's go. Your brother has everyone searching for you."
"Raul, is that you?"
"Of course, who did you expect? Sedgewick Slice?" Raul laughed at his own joke and turned to lead the way to the transport.
None of the transport's running lights were visible. The pilot had turned on the stealth cloaking system, which was a reverse hologram. It made the transport damn near invisible in the darkness. When Rollie walked up the gangway into the transport he recognized the pilot as the same guy who’d gotten them out of Zurich over a year before.
"Welcome aboard sir. Good to see you again."
"Yeah, same here."
The auto harnesses locked Rollie and Raul in their seats as the transport lifted off. Rollie noticed that nothing on the interior or exterior of the transport was illuminated. The pilot was flying by intuition to evade the local sky monitor system and avoid leaving a signature trail. If they were spotted at all it would be because of the weak heat trail left by the transport.
"Guys, stay in your seats. We're going to fly low to the ground for quite a while to avoid detection. Don't be surprised if I make several steep banks."
Rollie didn't know exactly what the pilot meant until the transport turned almost on its side and executed a hard bank to the right.
"Where are we going, Raul?"
"Back to Charlottesville to pack up. Tomorrow we're leaving North America. Things are getting too hot here."
"Where are we going?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow, when we're out over the ocean."
Ten minutes later, after a couple more hard-banking maneuvers, Rollie started to apologize. "I'm sorry, Raul. I should have never gone to Macon. It was a big mistake. Now, we have to move because of my stupid—"
Raul cut him off. "We're not leaving because you went to Macon. It's time to move on. We can't stay anywhere too long, because the longer we stay in one place the more likely someone will grow suspicious and turn us in to the authorities. We've overextended our stay in Charlottesville and it's time to go somewhere else. Besides, Europe erupted into total war yesterday and my sources tell me that the Americas will be dragged into it within a month. Best that we get out while the getting is good."
Rollie spent the rest of the trip regretting that he would never see any of his family again while Raul devoted his time to pretending to be asleep. Listening to the hum of the transport's engine with his eyes closed was the state of mind he needed, to figure out who the deep mole was in their group.
28
ARTFUL DODGING
"Everyone down and keep quiet." Raul had just enough time to get the group into the woods behind one of the rental houses before the militia kicked open the doors and started tearing the house apart. He knew that another group of storm-troopers were most likely at the other rental house, searching for his group of fugitives.
He’d expected something like this but was surprised by how quickly it had happened. He’d thought they would get out of North America before the Lavenders came looking for them. He watched the invaders moving from room to room through his night scope. He was both intrigued and amused by their efficiency. From the wall safe behind a shelf, to the locked desk drawer, it was very clear they’d studied the tips provided by the mole.
When the Lavenders left, Raul asked, "Anyone got a clever idea about where to stay tonight?"
Milkweed was the first to respond. "How long do we have to stay hidden, Raul?"
"Until six tomorrow morning. Then we'll have transportation."
There was dead silence for a couple of minutes until Easton looked over at Klever and asked, "Klever, didn't I… I mean, Jefferson, hide people in Monticello during the American Revolution? Isn't there a secret room or some area where he concealed patriots wanted by the British Army?"
"Yes, Jefferson built a hidden floor into Monticello. It's located between the first and second floors and has a secret entrance door." Klever paused for a moment to think about Easton's question. "There's only a handful of people in the world who know about this secret hiding place. In fact, how do you know about it? I never told you."
Even through the darkness, Easton could feel Klever's eyes boring into him. "I think I read about it somewhere. Anyhow, can we get into the house tonight?"
"I don't see why not. I go to the house at night quite regularly to work on one thing or another, so it wouldn’t seem unusual for a few lights to be on."
"Okay, let's go. It's only a mile walk."
"Why can't we use the hover vehicles?" Gretchen asked.
"The Lavenders attached motion sensors to our vehicles, Gretchen. We wouldn't get a hundred yards down the road before they stopped and arrested us."
Twenty minutes later, Raul's group entered Monticello house through the back door. Everyone followed Klever through a maze of hallways to a small broom closet. She opened the closet door and pushed the back wall away to reveal a wood ladder which led straight up. She flipped an electrical switch to illuminate the snug crawl space which the ladder passed through.
"Okay, everyone. Follow me and be careful." Easton knew exactly where the ladder went but decided against saying anything. The last thing he needed was for Klever to be more suspicious about his in-depth knowledge of Monticello's secrets.
It took the entire group about five minutes to climb the ladder and enter a small room through another camouflaged trap door. The room was approximately fifteen by twenty feet with a ceiling less than six feet in height. The low ceiling wasn't a burden for the women, but all the men had to stoop to avoid hitting their heads.
Along one wall were two windows approximately two by two feet in size, both windows at floor level. Upon closer examination, Raul figured out that the windows were in fact the top section of windows from the first floor. Their placement allowed sunlight to enter the concealed floor, without revealing its existence. From outside the house, anyone looking at the two windows would think they fronted only the first floor. The average person would never l
ook close enough at these optical illusions to discover their true intent.
Raul wanted to ask Easton how he’d come up with such an ingenious idea hundreds of years ago, when he designed Monticello. But one look at Klever and Easton convinced him to keep his mouth shut. The two of them were sparring, without either of them uttering a word. Raul could wait to discuss Jefferson's ingenuity later.
Milkweed walked around the room, examining everything from the paint color on the walls to the highly varnished, slat wood floors. His inquisitive nature led him to one question he couldn't figure out. How did the two sofas and three chairs get into the hidden room? There was no way they could have been brought up by the ladder the group used. The only solution he could arrive at was that the furniture was placed in the room when the home was constructed. Or there was another entrance into the room now, or in the past, which was undetectable.
He was about to ask Klever about this mystery when she spoke. "I'm going downstairs to act like I'm working. I'll be back in a couple of hours with some food. Try to be quiet and if you get tired, there are some blankets and pillows in that closet over there."
Raul didn't like the fact that Klever was going to be by herself, with the rest of the group trapped in a secret room. If she was the mole, the Lavenders could be summoned easily and sent up the ladder to arrest everyone. Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice in the matter. He would have to trust his intuition about her.
Raul didn’t know it, but his trust in Klever paid off ten minutes later, when she returned to the first floor and ran head-first into a Lavender patrol of six men. They surprised her in a hallway after she’d exited the broom closet and closed the secret passageway.
"Oh, god. You scared the crap out of me. Who are you?"
"Ma'am, the question is, who are you?"
"I'm sorry. My name is Klever O'Beberg and I'm the Tour Director here at Monticello. I'm working late tonight. Would you care to take a tour of the house? It's very interesting and I could use the practice for the large group tour I have tomorrow."
"No, we don't have time, Ma'am. May I see your identification?" The leader of the Lavender force made a close inspection of her identification and credentials. "Ma'am, have you seen any strangers around the house or grounds tonight?"
"No, you're the first people I've run into. Should I be concerned regarding the people you're looking for?"
"They're wanted for questioning, Ma'am. Contact me if you see anyone suspicious; okay? Here's my contact info."
Klever gave the Lavender leader a big smile, batted her eyelashes at him and said, "Absolutely. You'll be the first person I call. As a matter of fact, I might call you even if I don't see anyone suspicious."
"Ah, ah, thank you, Ma'am." The Lavender leader turned and headed toward the front lobby of the house where he gathered his patrol together and left. He couldn't wait to get away from the wacky woman who was old enough to be his mother. Of course, this was exactly how Klever had wanted him to respond to her pushy sexuality.
As Raul and his group were getting accustomed to their temporary hiding space at Monticello, M.C. Sweats was trying to calm his family members. The family had decided to call an impromptu meeting to discuss Rollie. Uncle Leeks had wasted no time telling everyone in the family about his unexpected run-in with the very much alive, Rollie Leeks.
"You all know that I like to have a few drinks, but I'm telling you that Rollie was at the pavilion! I heard his voice! It was the same distinctive voice Rollie has always had, even as a young lad. I'd stake my life on the fact that Rollie was sitting a couple rows in front of me during M.C.'s speech."
Everyone in the group turned to M.C., who was now the official leader of the family. M.C. debated whether to make his uncle look like an old man going feeble or try to concoct an explanation for his brother being in the pavilion crowd. Either way, the likelihood that he could convince everyone was slim.
"Uncle Leeks, I doubt that Rollie was at the pavilion, but I'm not calling you a liar, either. I really don't know. I gave the security officers an image of Rollie after I saw you, but they couldn't find him or anyone who even anyone who resembled him." He paused to rub at his chin as though he was considering an important fact. "I didn't want to bring this up, but there's another possibility."
"What's that M.C.?"
"I made a couple of inquiries and discovered that Rollie was definitely murdered by an unknown assailant. In fact, the Medical Examiner's office in Zurich sent me images of the body. But here's the strange thing. The company Rollie was working for supposedly developed a process for cloning humans. It might be that Rollie was brought back to life as a replicant."
Silence fell over the room. M.C. could see the confusion on the faces of the dozen or so family members in attendance.
From the back of the room M.C.'s Great Aunt Elsie asked, "What exactly does that mean, M.C.?"
"Elsie, I'm not an expert on this subject, but from what I know, Rollie's remains might have been used to create another Rollie. The process is called cloning and the thing or body that is produced is called a replicant. I'm not saying that this happened, but it's a possibility."
"Is there any way you can find out if Rollie was cloned?"
"I don't think so, Elsie. Now that Europe is knee-deep in war, no one over there cares about whether my brother was cloned. In fact, I've been told by reliable sources that war in the Americas might happen very soon. So if I were you, start preparing for hard times and forget about who it was at the pavilion. We all have bigger problems on the horizon."
He could see that his tainted version of the truth had changed the mood in the room. His family members weren't the brightest people on the planet, so his explanation about making a human from the body parts of a corpse was far beyond their understanding. Each of them viewed M.C.'s explanation as either a lie, fantasy or something bordering on the supernatural. But M.C. was right about one thing. A global war was bearing down on them like a typhoon and surviving was now their primary goal in life.
This sudden lack of interest in Rollie was exactly what M.C. discovered when he’d contacted the World Council earlier in the day. The clerk who took his report about spotting his fugitive brother was ambivalent. He couldn’t care less whether Rodolfo Sweats, the fugitive, was alive or dead. With hundreds of reports about the war flooding the World Council each hour, the sighting of a rogue terrorist wanted for questioning in a war zone was a low priority. Regardless, M.C. had done his duty by contacting the World Council headquarters. Sadly, the possibility of getting another promotion for turning in his brother evaporated like a wisp of smoke.
29
WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF IN?
29. WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF IN?
"Helmer, is there any way we can increase production of the CR47? Evelyn at the World Council is on me to double our output of machines."
"I don't know how we can, Claude. It takes time to build an intricate machine like this. Plus, we had to move production to the Novy Afon Cave in Abkhazia, Georgia, to avoid detection by the Black Cross. Getting everything to the eastern shore of the Black Sea wasn't easy. We're at twenty machines per month now. Do you know why she wants to double production?"
"Don't repeat this, Helmer, but the Black Cross is winning the war. Too many of the Lavender military officers and World Council members are being killed. Evelyn is looking for a way to replace them as quick as possible. They say that she’s a brilliant leader, but I'm not sure she can overcome the decades of stifling over-regulation by the World Council."
"I'm not the smartest political observer, but it seems to me that the World Council pushed the common man a little too far. Who wants to get up in the morning if their day is regulated from dawn to dusk? There's no reason to give a damn about anything if you don't have an opportunity to succeed and fail. Being dependent on a bureaucrat for survival seems great at first. But the human spirit craves more than being taken care of by a faceless government. And of course, if you don't follow every rule
to the letter, then you and your family are severely penalized."
"I agree, Helmer. Humans aren't robots, they need to have self-worth. They need to be greedy and selfish at times. And, most important, they must be allowed to keep some of what they produce. Giving up everything for the greater good of society destroys initiative and ambition. Being guaranteed everything in life isn't nearly as rewarding as working for it."
For the first time in many years, Claude and Helmer conducted an honest talk without criticizing or mistrusting each other. Since Rollie and Raul fled Zurich, Claude had turned more to Helmer, the lone survivor of the original CR47 group of innovative scientists. Having Claudette's clone at his side was emotionally satisfying but did little to help him with the day-to-day uncertainties of leadership.
In the past year, Claude had aged a decade. How naive he’d been when given the position of leadership! The fun and games had lasted for about two weeks. From that point on it had been a never-ending list of problems, complaints, and decisions. He was tired and needed someone to assume some of the burdens. Out of desperation, he’d turned to Helmer, the only person he could trust for an honest appraisal of his ideas and decisions. The result was that the man he’d despised for so many years had become his most trusted confidant.
"Claude, I hate to bring this up now, but we might have a bigger problem than increasing production. I'm getting reports that some of the clones are acting irrationally."
"What do you mean?"
"There's a colonel on the eastern front who has been cloned four times. He's a great military mind who doesn't shy away from leading his troops into battle. As a result, he's been killed several times. It seems that his decisions are becoming more eccentric each time he's brought back. This last time, he stood up in the middle of a bombardment and screamed that he couldn't be killed. His troops, who were face down in foxholes, thought he’d lost his mind and refused to follow his over-zealous and bizarre commands."
